star bath

my
scars
become
skylights
most
nights

stars
shine
thru
the
wounds

their
silvery
milk
bathing
any
traces
of
pain

________________________________

a lesser burden

i used to sit during winter
on the midnight train
gazing out the window
counting peaceful trees
praying it was just dream
that i was not really a man
but rather one those trees
gracefully bending beneath
the weight of snow

I Can Handle It

By

Grant Guy

He said

He could limit himself to one meditation a day

He said

“I can handle it”

But before long

He and the boys were doing Zen everyday

Often in the back alley out behind the school

Today

He can be found

Living on the streets of East Vancouver

Doing hard yoga

Dancing with Chowski -7

After the dog died

I swept weekly

The first week

Wiry hair in bunny bunches

The second

A mound

The third

A wisp on a bristle

I swept weakly until

Her hair was gone

something charming

i believe

the waitress

caught me

staring at

her tattoos

on her right

arm

these are the

moments where

i wish my smart

ass was also

clever enough

to come up

with something

charming to say

this is the

problem of

never growing

out of that

awkward

phase of life

you feel helpless

watching woman

after beautiful

woman walk

away

it’s pure

fucking

torture

Drying The Bones

I tore out my
skeleton
bone by
bone
and placed it by the
sun to
dry from
years of
crying.
The crackling of the
cartilage was like
fireworks,
lighting up the
sky with
effervescent catharsis.
By now, a
crowd gathered to
watch as I
placed my
skeleton back into my
flesh.
They watched in
terror as every
bone snapped into
place but they’ve
never been
reborn
I suppose;
they cried and
screamed while I just
shrugged,
smiled, and
strutted away.

***

The Revolution is Coming

A revolution is coming

I can feel it in my bones

A revolution is coming

And it will wipe out

The collapsing edifices

Of the American Empire

The masses are rising up

To throw off their chains

And demand justice

The masses are coming

For the masters of the universe

Their day is numbered

And they know it too

One day

The masses will rise

Storm the citadels of power

Arresting the corrupt leaders

In the name of revolutionary justice

Stringing them up

Executing them

One by one

As the revolutionary fires

Consume the nation

And I can’t wait

For the revolution

Is long over due

Last Pack

She’s sitting on a trashcan,
sad and smoking, bummed-out
low-rent hipster girl.

Death of the Passerine

Rain comes hard, shaking her bed,
drenching her, but that isn’t
what kills her.

How to Distinguish a Raven from a Crow

Truth is a lie that’s shined its shoes
then gone to town
with good intentions.

in a world whose heart has been extracted

By

Grant Guy

in a world whose heart has been extracted from hope
i am on my own w/o a name or face
i stand in my naked clothes of deception
behind a dead mic

i howl & howl & whimper & whimper
to an empty space w/o dimensions
but no one no one has come to hear me

my words are the empty words of a dying antonin artaud
sputtering meaningless syllable & yaps for hours on end

cruelty and kindness are dismembered
& thrown like johnny’s appleseeds
into the long loneliness of the void beyond nothing

b/c i am god’s orphan

His Story: An Observation

By

Grant Guy

His wife’s stroke he turned it into a story being all about him

His father-in-law’s funeral became all about him.

When Reagan was shot it was definitely a story about him

Oh, let us not forget about his sister dying from leukemia

Nor to mention the molestation and murder of the 69 year old housewife

The Blue Jays winning the World Series

The bus plunge in El Salvador 
I

n his mind they were all about him

That was the kind of guy he was

So when he died

And no one showed up

It was all about him

March Madness

The 9th.

First i found him down

by the trash cans

near the gate

on the west side

afterdark.

Made a leap frog formation

of the tall city refuse bins

and he wobbled

to the porch

and crawled

past the

threshold.

Something seemed broken.

He moaned.

He never showed pain

Never complained.

This time he groaned.

He drank too much

to gain the courage

to yell at God

in the sky

about

losing…”ALL OF THE GUNNERS!

HOW CAN I LIVE?!?”

The 14th.

We had dinner.

There was no way

his blood sugar could plummet.

He’d forgotten

he had done his

evening insulin twice.

I found him

hugging a pillow

cross-legged

by the front door

as if he wants

to leave

and address God

in person…

rocking as in distress.

Eyes wild and face contorted

He barely uttering

“I’m waiting.  I’m waiting,”

I grew tired of this vigil

of waiting too

when i

wouldn’t be ready

or awake or alert

I’m yelling to the heavens

Too.

“Not yet!!”

The 22nd.

I’d read the crap

From the 2 ER visits already…

“Performed complete physical.”

Bullshit.

The 22nd.

Our third trip to the ER.

Me waiting and warming up

my car while the EMTs worked to stabilize him

In “the bus”.

A greyhound

To what lies After?

Couldn’t weep.

Just prayed they’d send him this time to the VA to live Damnit.

Long enough to

Dry Out.

2 days later

I said

“YES!  INTUBATE!”

He hasn’t signed an advanced directive or DNR,

neither will I.

And a wound

and PICC line

in the intensive care unit

keep him alive longer.

And a nephew comes in and gets Power of Medical

Attorney

Have at it

I’m harried from March

like a

Madd Hatter who’s

avoiding this

date with death.

Vietnam set some internal

alarm

in him.

4 months plus

in Topeka VA

Mental Health.

He’s gone home

to a new address.

I’m not allowed to save him

anymore.

The VA social worker said,

“He’s tired.”

Of his wife grabbing him from

The Grim Reaper.

I won’t be celebrating

Halloween.

Pubic

After my son died in my arms

I was unemployable and divorce was a bonus to death.

I got a job in a topless strip joint to pay my bills.

My family was appalled.

I didn’t care.

Dad said I won’t disown you no matter what you do.’

My Johnson County Mom did and big sis followed suit.

Okay sometimes I did wear my entire birthday suit and danced off homemade costumes why not?

Exploitation?  No way.  I took home wads of cash a day from any lonely sucker or knowing mother fucker i grew fond of and well that goes both ways.

Off I-70 you get ‘em all.  Truckers salesmen drug peddlers with jars of white crosses.

I had no kids nor habit to support and

Pulled double shifts to cover a no-show for a $3 line of meth.

One day a Jack Henry suit walked in and paid his $10 to watch and didn’t go in the porn room.  It was slow before afternoon.

I danced just for him.

He was creepy.

But i sat with him, robed up a cigarette for self defense between us and he scribbled a note.

“Can i have some pussy hairs to put under my pillow for $50 bucks?”

I answered ‘Sure”, like it was asked every day and hurried to the dressing room to consult with Iris…my ‘mentor’.

She grabbed her toenail scissors from her makeup case snipped a bit of curly headed hair off my head wrapped it in a tissue and pushed me back into the arena.

Never saw him again.

I spent it on nice lipsticks.

Hallelujah

I’m not a single mother

anymore.

I knew

when he turned thirty.

Now it’s my turn and I’m

preparing a path

with Purpose.

And plans.

Never had time to grieve the gone.

So now’s the time

Or NEVER.

Not an option it seems.

I think I’ll grow old if i don’t

fill in the holes

with dirt and tears.

What grows in salty soil?

A beach where

I dreamed dad said goodbye

before setting sail.

And Jack made a heart

in his ashes the

next

day

random scatter it was noon

before at

Wonder Lake.

There’s something

Never quite finished

Bout suicides.

And my first son just died an unnatural death.

I was busy with work and 2 year-old whining about potty training.

Fearsome Fours.

Daycare

Then kindergarten and how fragile

First grade.

Soccer practice

T-ball.

Can’t tear up with water.

What would Jake do.

He was already delicate of spirit

An old soul.

Jr High is like high school

Now.

Kept condoms in a basket.

Had the talk about…

“Sure son virginity until marriage is certainly an idea.”

Then there was Kristy

And the faux pregnancy scare on April Fools Day.

But his friends passed bongs

in this Mom’s home.

No juvey hall

Or trips to the court house.

No young women were allowed.

Hallelujah.

Then a car at 16.

Finally finishing at KU.

And he took on a near impossible career choice

with only training on the job.

He called home a lot.

Needed explaining.

Suicidal ideation

IS really scary son.

Let’s figure this out.

Call a doc and call me back.

“I did Mom.  I feel better already.”

And we talked for two or more hours a lot.

Until he turned 30.

And he’s teeming with joy.

Shaina did that too.

We trained him to smile and laugh

at little stuff.

Seems it’s time for a few tears now.

Hallelujah